What If
by ScribblesOfLove
Summary: What if, she was still yours?" Smitchie/Nitchie/Jemi/Nemi Definite one-shot. Tragedy. Rated T for implied suicide.
1. Chapter 1

**What If**

**Disclaimer: The writer does not own the Jonas Brothers, Camp Rock, Demi Lovato, or anyone else featured in the aforementioned story. **

You slam the door shut. There he is. Your backstabbing ass of a brother. You had been looking all day for him, even venturing down to the local library, barely escaping the hordes of nerdy fan-girls that haunted its halls. He leans his forehead onto hers, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She giggles, and then pecks him on the lips. You flinch, but carry on down the hallway. One step at a time, trying to ignore the slurping that has now emerged from the couch. Trying to ignore the thump, thump, thumping of your own heart, as your footsteps grow heavier with each sound that she makes, sounds that he brought on. Sounds that should have been caused by you, and only you.

"I love you." He mutters faintly, but not so soft that you cannot hear. You stop. Lean against the white walls. Close your eyes; wait for her to say something, anything.

"I love you too." She smiles, every movement she makes noted down carefully by you until then. Then she pulls him in again, just as you pull away, and carry down the corridor, quicker and quicker, till you pound up the stairs, shutting the door to your room. A framed photograph lies next to your bed. Another reason why you don't allow anyone in anymore. You pick it up, tracing the features of her pretty face. Remembering her very smile, when you held up that camera, and kissed her. That is, until your evil, conniving, _bastard _of a brother swooped her away into his arms.

But no, even in your anger you do not blame him, for it is apparent – to everyone-, that it is you who were in the wrong. And now waves of regret wash over you, heavier and heavier, until you are submerged in an entire tsunami of guilt, and want. What if. Those two dreaded words that you swore you would never think of again. What if. What if you hadn't been a total jerk and blew off your dinner date. What if you had never called her things that you would never repeat again. What if, she was still yours?

For that would be wonderful. And you would cherish her till the world ended, making sure that you held her hand as she left you. What you never imagined however, was the way she would leave you, and so much earlier than you had imagined. You hear her laugh again, wafting up the stairwell. And something. Just. Snaps. Everything else is in a daze after that, you yanking open the drawers, pulling out something, anything, that may ease the pain. Then finally. You find the small black pistol. You remember the gun. From your gang-fighting days when you were still famous and still in love. You remember when you had promised that gun was gone. It wasn't. The below door slams. Someone has left. You stare out the tinted windows. Him. He is leaving, and you can hear her footsteps treading lightly up the wooden steps. Slowly, she is getting nearer, and you know you must end it before it is too late. You lift the gun, clicking the trigger on the side of your head.

The door slams.

You drop the gun, as she stares wide-eyed at you. "Shane?" she mouths. Your hands fumble on the ground again, feeling for the small black object. The gun is in your palm once more.

"Go, Mitchie." You manage to stutter out. "Please leave."

"No!" She has started to cry. "Don't, please, just, don't." Desperately, she grabs at your hand, but you are stronger, and push her away.

"Just leave. Leave!" You boom. "Can't you see that this is all my fault? My own friggin' fault!"

"Shane. Shane!" She grips at you again. "No. Shane. Stop, Shane. Come downstairs, please. Please!"

With one last push, she falls onto your bed, face down. She doesn't see you when the loud click of the pistols resounds in your head. You see her turn, cry, grip at your shoulders,

nothing.

**A/N: Okay. Very dark. Probably going to rate this T. Dedicated to the only sweet person I know that takes great joy in seeing people die in fan fictions. Need I also mention that I am a big fan of her work as well? Kits! **

**Thank you for all the support and awesomeness that you contain. **

**R&R, everybody! **

**This is a major one. **

**Tell me all your deep dark emotions and all that. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Just Like Daddy**

**Disclaimer: The writer does not own the Jonas Brothers, Camp Rock, Demi Lovato, or anyone else featured in the aforementioned story.**

Everyday, Mitchie Torres cursed herself for loving Shane Gray. Even now that he wasn't here – that was what she liked to call it, she couldn't think of anything else or the nightmares would return- she still found little things that reminded her of him, reminded her of their dysfunctional, passionate, absolutely wonderful relationship of the past. These things, she tried to eliminate- she burned all the photos, threw away all the letters. But of course, it was just like Shane to leave her something that she could never get rid of, because she loved it too much. A baby boy.

Daniel Torres; that was his name. She refused to use Shane's last name. It was better for her to be known as a single mom, rather than Shane Gray's pathetic ex-girlfriend. Even from the beginning, it was clear that Daniel was a beautiful baby. He had a wisp of somewhat brown hair, and large brown eyes. These things she was grateful for. At least, he looked a little like her. And then, once he turned two, everything changed. His eyes took on a shocking shade of chocolate brown, his hair grew perfectly jet black. Just like his daddy.

Mitchie grew worried. Now Daniel looked nothing like her. She often took comfort in knowing that he own father had brown eyes, but the issue of Daniel's black hair often troubled her. She had auburn hair, the exact same shade as her mother's. But she could never bear to dye it, because it was just like his daddy's.

At four, Daniel went to kindergarten. It grew even more obvious that he was more like his father than anyone else, for even his temperament was like Shane's. The very same, fiery, determined character that sometimes grew mild; the same one that could make Mitchie laugh. One day, when she stopped to watch as he ran to the sandbox, she overheard a passing comment by one of the teachers to another. "Daniel is such a handsome boy. His mother is beautiful, but he looks nothing like her. He must look _just like daddy_."

It drove Mitchie insane for a while, and she often worried at night about her young son. What if he took after Shane when he was older as well? People would know that he was Shane's son. Even now, when she compared baby photos of Shane to Daniel, she saw the same boy. But there was just one thing, a small ember of joy that kept her, quite possibly, sane. Daniel could sing. Just like daddy, his voice rose and soared above all others, even when he was just singing his alphabet. The teachers loved his voice, and allowed him to sing for the other children. Daniel's voice was one of envy and awe.

Mitchie loved Daniel more than she loved life itself.

Just like she loved Daddy.

**A/N:  
Review. I hope you liked this, it meant to be one of overall happiness, if a little sad at some parts. I suppose you can call it a sequel to What If. **

**Dedicated to the wonderful Kitlea. **


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